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Geralt was not sure how it happened, but he was sure that it was somehow Jaskier’s fault. One minute, he sat across from his friend of 20 or so years, eating soup in relative silence, and the next minute, Jaskier began to say the most insane things that Geralt had ever heard.
“Geralt, you ever been sitting across from someone, just trying to have a normal conversation, fighting every urge inside yourself to just scream out ‘YEAH!’?”
Geralt raised his head slowly, looking his friend in the eye. Jaskier was staring at him with an expression he could only describe as soft. His chin was resting on his hands and he had a small smile on his face.
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“One of these days, Geralt, I’m going to tell you how I really feel. You’d better look out, it’s going to be you and me and a whole table of the finest wine and cheeses.” The bard continued, really only confusing Geralt more. Jaskier turned his head to the side, averting his gaze, and staring off to the side of the room.
“Are you feeling okay, Jaskier?” He asked, putting his soup spoon down.
Jaskier was only halfway through his soup, and it was unlike him to leave a meal unfinished. The bard ignored him, tapping his fingers anxiously on the table, clearly avoiding his eyes.
“Look at me,” Geralt said, annoyed.
“No, it’s better this way, trust me,” Jaskier replied.
“Why?”
“Because you’re so fucking attractive, I cannot look at you and focus at the same time.”
Geralt leaned over and snatched Jaskier’s soup from under his front. He brought it up to his nose to take a long, assessing sniff. No poison, no intoxicants, no indication of anything that could make the bard lose his mind the way he had.
“Jaskier. Are you feeling okay? Look at me!”
“Alright. But you look like that. So don’t be surprised if I look like I want to be underneath you.” He said, turning to look Geralt in the eye. “Oh gods. I tell my friends that the sexiest thing about you is your kindness, yet here I am, breaking into a sweat because a lock of hair is falling in front of your eyes.” Jaskier bit his lip and raked his eyes lecherously over the witcher’s form.
Geralt stood abruptly and grabbed Jaskier by the back of his collar. He dragged him through the din of the Inn dining hall and down the long, narrow hallway before pushing him through the door of their bedroom.
“What is WRONG with you?” Geralt hissed angrily. “Why are you saying these things?”
“I would tongue kiss a drowner just to brush arms with you,” Jaskier said, almost wistfully.
His expression was strange. It was soft and warm. Geralt had never seen this look on Jaskier’s face before, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the bard was looking at him with love and affection in his eyes. But that was impossible, Jaskier was his friend, his best friend. While he had bedded many men over the years, he had never shown any interest in Geralt beyond superficial flirting.
It had to be a love spell. There was no other explanation. He pulled Jaskier close to him and pressed his medallion into the expanse of chest peeking through the top of his loosely laced shirt. He could feel the bard’s heart race and smell the distinct arousal in the air. The medallion buzzed faintly. A spell, then. Fuck.
“I would walk through Oxenfurt with my pants around my ankles just to braid your hair.” Jaskier raised a hand to run a lock of white hair through his fingers gently, almost reverently. Geralt slapped his hand away.
“Stop that! You are under a spell. Get hold of yourself!”
Jaskier whimpered like a kicked dog and his eyes welled with tears. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s chest, ignoring the stiff and uncomfortable posture the Witcher was exhibiting. Hiding his face in his friend's shoulder, tears began to run from his eyes, wetting Geralt’s shirt.
“Why don’t you want me, Geralt? Am I not enough for you?”
“Jaskier, what you are feeling isn’t real. You have been bewitched. Did you meet any strangers, fuck the wrong person?” Jaskier was prone to being cursed. He seemed to be a magnet for magical trouble. Throughout the course of their life together, Jaskier had nearly died, been cursed to not speak, gone blind, gone deaf, as well as a myriad of other life-altering curses that Geralt was required to break. This was usually by negotiating or threatening the local hedge witch who had cursed him.
“There was...” Jaskier trailed off.
“Yes?” Geralt fought to keep irritation out of his voice while he had a crying bard draped across his front.
“There was…. A woman. She wanted to… but I said no. There was a light. She disappeared.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know, Geralt!” He said with a sob.
Geralt pulled Jaskier back and placed both hands on his shoulders, catching his gaze and holding it fiercely.
“Jaskier. Think. The woman. The light. What did she say?” He said gruffly, getting frustrated.
“I hope he kills you once he knows,” Jaskier said gravely.
“He? Who is ‘he’? Me? Once I know what? Jaskier, focus!” He shook the bard lightly as his attention began to drift. The man’s blue eyes snapped back to meet gold.
“That I love you.”
So this witch or mage or fucking fairy cursed the bard with a Love Spell, hoping that Geralt would become so enraged as to kill his best friend in cold blood.
“Does it upset you? Are you going to kill me?” Jaskier asked in a small, scared voice.
The pathetic look on his face made Geralt hug him firmly to his chest. “Never. What you are feeling isn’t real. I will find a curse breaker, and we will clear this up.”
“So, you don’t want me?”
Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? Geralt did want him. Desperately and with his entire soul, what was left of it. Every compliment, every declaration of love, was a twisting knife in his gut. To know it wasn’t real made Geralt want to crawl into a hole and die. To be so close to having what he had wanted for years but knowing he could not have it was a pain he had never felt before.
“You don’t want ME, Jask. It’s the spell.”
“Nonsense. I’ve been in love with you for 20 years.” Jaskier said, his voice edging on anger. The words caused a pang in the witchers chest. “Gods, would I be good to you, Geralt.” He added, with the warmest expression.
Allowing himself a brief indulgence, Geralt asked, “How good?”
“You’d wake up in the morning, and I’d be right there, being good to you.” Jaskier raised his hand to cradle Geralt’s cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone. The witcher closed his eyes for a second, allowing himself to lean into the hand.
The bard closed his eyes with a happy hum and leaned in with pursed lips. Geralt slammed a hand firmly into his sternum, stopping him in his tracks. Jaskier whimpered and fought against the hand, grasping Geralt’s face with both hands in an effort to bring their lips together.
“No,” Geralt said firmly, reminding himself that his friend was under a spell and therefore not in his right mind.
“Why not?”
Geralt pushed the man away and ran frustrated hands over his face with a growl. “You know why not!”
He knew he was a bad man, a monster, a mutant, but really, what had he done to deserve such cruelty? To have the very thing he yearned for in his grasp, but knowing that to take it would be tantamount to rape.
His booted feet were loud against the wood of the floor as he trudged over to the door. Jaskier began to follow, but he held his hand up to stop him.
“You stay here. I am going to go figure this out.” He said gruffly.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No! Stay here.”
“But-“
“No!” Geralt shouted and closed the door with a rough thud, pushing his thigh up against it in case Jaskier tried to push through. He felt no such resistance, just the soft sound of him sagging against the wood on the other side.
“Even when you’re slamming the door in my face, I am an absolute slave to you.” He heard the bard say softly through the thick wooden door.
“Fuck.” He muttered and slammed his forehead against the door, taking long, deep breaths to calm his racing mind.
He stepped away and began to walk. Luckily, he had had the presence of mind to grab the Xenovox on the way out and walked to a quiet section of the stables to contact Yennefer. Jaskier had not given him much to go on and hunting down every woman that Jaskier might reject in a town this size would be a fruitless endeavour. With one hand on Roach’s flank, he made contact with Yennefer, the box crackling to life in his hand. It felt warm like it had been in the sun.
“This better be good, you are interrupting a very interesting series of events involving Triss and an offended noble,” Yennefer said with a deadpan voice.
“It’s Jaskier.”
“What has the little trollop done now? Got himself turned into a toad?”
“No. Someone has cast a love spell on him. He keeps trying to kiss me.”
“And? You’re a big boy, Geralt, you’re telling me you can’t reject the advances of a mere human bard?” She said with a laugh.
“Of course I can. But we can’t live like this. I heard him crying when I left to call you!” He said angrily.
“Fine. I will attend. Give me a few minutes to gather my things. You owe me, Witcher.” Geralt could feel her glare through the Xenovox as it disconnected.
Within a few minutes, the glow of a portal emerged from the other end of the stables. Some of the horses reared up and whined, while others slammed their hooves into the dirt. Horses did not like portals, as a rule. Roach did not seem to mind them, having gone through a few in her time. Yennefer stepped out of the portal looking perfect as per usual. Not a hair out of place, her dress free of wrinkles and unblemished, the colour of the night sky.
“Why do you insist on meeting in stables? Do you simply enjoy the smell of horse shit?” She angrily covered her nose and walked out of the exit as fast as she could without actually running. Geralt followed after her.
“Right. That’s better. I can breathe now.” She said with relief as she reached the open air. “Where is he?”
“In our room.” Geralt answered.
“Lead the way.” Yenn gestured for him to walk.
When they reached the door of their room, they could hear soft sobbing coming from behind it, thankfully not butting up against the door.
“If he reacts badly to your presence, remember that he is under a spell and does not mean what he says.” He warned Yennefer. Jaskier could react poorly to seeing a woman with whom Geralt used to be involved if he’s convinced he’s in love with him.
“I understand.” She said with an eye roll and pushed in front of him to open the door.
Jaskier sat on the bed, cradling one of Geralt’s shirts in his hands. It was balled up and resting just under the bard's chin as he sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked small and vulnerable. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and spied Yennefer easily.
“Yennefer!” Jaskier called happily in a voice crackly and rough from crying. “You look beautiful, as always.” This surprised her; the bard rarely gave her compliments so freely.
“Your hair is so lovely, do you brush it 100 times every night- oh. You’re back.” His mood shifted so dramatically that Yennefer got whiplash. Upon looking up and noticing Geralt was also in the room with them, he made a whimpering sound and hid his face in Geralt’s shirt.
Yennefer had entered the room fully prepared to tease the bard mercilessly. But upon seeing the pathetic display in front of her, her heart ached to see it. Jaskier was a man who always projected a positive aura, whether through his relentless singing or cutting insults that they both knew were just for sport; he was not this being of abject misery in front of her.
“Bard.” She called softly, sitting on the bed next to him.
He shoved his face further into the fabric and curled in on himself as if to shrink his form.
“He doesn’t want me. Why doesn’t he want me? You’re beautiful and perfect and powerful, you will take him away from me.” He sobbed.
Yennefer patted his hair soothingly, shushing him as he cried. “It is okay, Bard, I will fix this.” She reassured him.
Her hands began to glow as she hovered them over his body, looking for the location of the spell. Often, these types of spells attached themselves to a specific part of the body, usually an organ, and as such were difficult to locate.
“Can you help him?” Geralt interrupted her concentration.
“If you continue to interrupt me, no.” She shot back with irritation, and Geralt shut his mouth with an audible click.
Hovering her hand around his head, she felt the telltale presence of the spell. Zeroing in on that area, she sent pulses of chaos through the bard and narrowed down the location. She took her hands back with a confused look.
“It’s here.” She said, pointing to her own forehead.
“His mind?” Geralt asked.
“No. The very front of his brain.” She said, indicating an inch-wide section at the very front and top of his head. “But it’s not-“ she trailed off, staring at the bard as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“It’s not what? Yenn, can you fix him or not?” He said, with an air of desperation in his voice.
She stood and put a finger to her lips to shush him before ushering him out the door to speak in the hallway.
“It is not a love spell.” She said. She wished she could find some amusement in this. But the miserable state of the bard she thought of as a friend had taken the humour out of it.
“What is it then?” He demanded in a whisper, conscious to ensure Jaskier couldn’t hear them.
“It is a truth spell, of sorts.” She said vaguely.
“Speak plainly!”
“It seems to be more that he cannot hold back his impulses. He just says whatever comes to mind at the time. Nor can he control his emotions, hence the weeping.” She explained delicately.
“Can you fix him or not?”
“No. I cannot. It will fade away on its own. I can feel it already weakening. Another day or two and he will be back to his old self. But, Geralt, I must stress, this is not a love spell.” She could see this hadn’t yet registered in the witcher’s mind and Geralt stared at her blankly.
“There is nothing further that I can do. It will go away on its own. Until then, try to keep him calm and comfortable.” She patted his chest sympathetically.
“You can’t leave!” He grabbed her arm in panic.
“I have things to do, Geralt.” She shook him off with a huff and opened the door back up.
“Jaskier.” She called quietly. “I have to go. Are you going to be okay? Would you like to come with me?”
Jaskier peered at her over the edge of the black shirt and shook his head slowly. Yennefer brushed a hand through his hair, and he smiled softly at the touch.
“Okay.” She whispered. “It’s going to be okay. This will wear off soon, and you will feel better.”
He hummed happily at the physical contact.
“Until next time, Geralt. Good luck.” She said with a smirk before porting away in a gust.
Jaskier stared blankly at the spot she had been before she opened the portal.
“Why didn’t you go with her? I’ve upset you.” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“There is no other place I would rather be in the entire world than right here with you, right now.” He looked so earnest.
“Yennefer said you aren’t under a spell to fall in love. But that you can’t control what you say, you can’t help but tell me these things. What do you think?”
“I think that I would walk across hot coals just to be able to hold your bag for you. Geralt. I am hopelessly and hilariously in love with you. I would cut off my own arm for a kiss on the cheek from you.”
“Why? Jaskier, you are a famous bard; you could have anyone you want. What makes you want an old bastard of a witcher?” He asked.
“You're smart, capable, rational, dependable, kind, consistent, you're a leader.” He sat up and reached for Geralt’s hand. “And you smell so fucking good.”
That actually got a laugh out of the usually so gruff Witcher. Jaskier slid off the bed and knelt in front of the slouching man, reaching a hand up to cradle his face. “I’d honour you until the day I die, I swear to the gods. You give me a moment, and I’ll make it last a lifetime.”
“You don’t even know what you’re saying! The spell is affecting your mind.” Geralt dismissed him and grabbed his wrists to force his hands by his sides.
“You’re a brute.” Jaskier huffed.
“What?”
“You’re a fucking brute. You have an attractive man in front of you. I am a musician who is celebrated across the continent. I’ve followed you for 20 years. I am kneeling at your feet, telling you that it all stops with you. But you are telling me that you don’t believe me?” He seemed mildly outraged at the suggestion. “So, I’ll tell you, if this is how it’s going to be, fucking hands off until you’re sure or until I prove myself worthy of you. Then I’ll do it. I won’t rest until I’ve got even a shoulder pat from you.”
Geralt reached out and patted the kneeling man on the shoulder gently. “You can rest now.” He joked.
“Geralt. Can I kiss you?”
If Jaskier woke up in two days' time and regretted everything he had said, revealed he did not mean it, or was only saying it due to the spell, he would regret kissing Geralt. But Geralt allowed himself a moment of selfishness in his very long life. He trudged across the continent, saving people and hunting things, in the wind and the rain and the cold. His life, on the whole, was one of pain and misery around every corner. If this was his one chance at kissing the man he was in love with, then he simply deserved the chance. Jaskier may hate him for it later, but if this was his only chance, then he was going to take it.
Geralt nodded mutely with a gulp. He expected Jaskier to jump into his lap or stick a tongue down his throat with ferocity, but the kiss he felt when their lips met was anything but. It was soft and warm, and Geralt felt more loved in that moment than he had in his entire life. His entire body tingled. Jaskier leaned his forehead on Geralt’s once they had separated.
Fighting against the urge to kiss him again, Geralt stood abruptly, nearly knocking Jaskier over. “Enough. It has been a very trying day, and I need sleep.”
“Can I sleep next to you?” Hope clouded Jaskier’s voice.
“No,” Geralt replied quickly. He didn’t think he could resist if Jaskier tried to seduce him in the vulnerability of the dark.
A kiss where it isn’t wanted, Jaskier would probably forgive. But to fuck the man when he isn’t in his right mind was a grievous sin that Geralt did not plan on committing. Jaskier wandered sadly over to the bed on his side of the room, eyes scanning over Geralt as he got changed. The witcher dropped his dirty shirt to the floor with a slight thud, and Jaskier flashed over to pick it up, bringing it up to his nose and holding its still-warm heat against his cheek. He climbed into bed with it on his pillow.
Geralt settled into bed on the opposite side of the room on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“I would be so fucking good to you, Geralt,” Jaskier said sleepily.
“I know you would,” Geralt said into the darkness.
It only took a few minutes for Jaskier to drift off. His soft breathing and slowing heart rate were telltale indicators. Geralt turned his face towards the other bed, looking at a sleeping Jaskier in the darkness. He might hate him in the morning, this might be the final straw of their doomed friendship, but the lingering tingling of his lips and the memory of how soft Jaskier’s lips were would haunt Geralt for the rest of his days.
“Please do not hate me.” He whispered to the sleeping bard.
*********
When Geralt woke the next morning, the bed next to his was empty. Messy and unmade, but devoid of the bard who had occupied it only a few hours before. He sat up in panic and scanned his eyes around the room, quickly spying Jaskier’s bags and, thank the gods, his lute. The bard would never abandon his lute, so wherever he was, he intended to come back. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he had barely placed a foot on the floor before the door swung open with a thud and Jaskier walked through it carrying a tray of breakfast. Some bread, spreads, and was that fresh cut apple?
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” He said with a smile as he placed the tray down on the small table.
“As are you,” Geralt replied, narrowing his eyes at the man. “You seem-“
“Less insane? Yes, I seem to be mostly cured of my affliction. Though I did tell the innkeeper I thought his beard looked very grabbable, so I’m not out of the woods yet.”
“So, you remember, then.”
“Every unfortunate detail. I cannot believe I told Yennefer her hair was nice.” He scoffed as he slathered some fresh-looking butter on a slice of bread, holding it out for Geralt to take.
Geralt rose to receive the offered slice, standing close to the table, and by consequence, Jaskier, as he ate.
“You remember everything, then?” Geralt asked diplomatically.
Jaskier sighed heavily, though his heart rate was climbing fast. He faced away from Geralt to load up another piece of bread with strawberry jam before handing it to him.
“Geralt, I cannot apologise enough for my actions. I nearly threw myself out of the window when I remembered what I had done. I hope this does not change things between us. You are my best friend and I love travelling with you. Can we not let my silly feelings get in the way of that? I came to terms with my one-sided affections long ago and expect nothing in return. I only hope that I did not embarrass myself so thoroughly with my infernal sentimentality that you wish to be rid of me, though I would not begrudge you that choice.” He said sadly. “I brought your breakfast to hopefully sweeten my chances of forgiveness.” His eyes were averted in shame, trained on the breakfast tray he had brought in.
“You really would walk around Oxenfurt half naked to brush my arm, walk across hot coals to hold my bag, cut your arm off for a mere kiss?” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in Geralt’s voice.
“I said I was sorry!” Jaskier snapped. There was no reason for Geralt to tease him like this, it was cruel.
“Answer the question. Yes or no?”
“…yes.” He admitted, blood rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment.
“Do you remember that I kissed you?” Geralt was in his personal space now, chests brushing with every breath.
“I remember begging for it. Crying when you rejected me. I am sorry that I pushed you into it. I would never wish you to debase yourself like that were I in my right mind.” Jaskier avoided his eyes.
Geralt placed a knuckle under his chin and lifted it until he met his gaze. “You would be good to me?” He asked in a low voice that sent a shiver through the bard.
“Till my dying breath,” Jaskier answered sincerely.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not that Geralt would kiss him. It was soft, at first, sweet and full of love. Jaskier kissed back but left his hands by his sides, afraid to spook Geralt.
“Jaskier. I have been in love with you for years. I did not know you returned my feelings.” He said in a sorrowful tone.
“Of course I do, Geralt, how could I not?” He answered quickly before his brain had even registered what the Witcher said. “Wait. WHAT?” He yelped.
“When you said all these things yesterday, it physically pained me. To have the thing I wanted dangled in front of me, but it being nothing but a falsehood made my heart ache. I thought you were under a love spell. When Yennefer told me that wasn’t the case, I didn’t believe her. I could not believe that you would love an evil and broken thing like me.” Geralt admitted, leaning his forehead on Jaskier’s.
“Oh Geralt, my darling, you are neither evil nor broken. A little grumpy and perhaps a little rough around the edges, but fundamentally a good man.” He pushed a lock of white hair behind the man’s ear. “And, I love you.”
“Jaskier….” Geralt trailed off in a breathy voice before pulling him into a fierce kiss.
This one was different. It was fast and desperate, all open mouths and tongues. Geralt was grasping Jaskier’s jaw to force his mouth open wider, licking into the other man’s mouth to chase the taste. He separated himself to bend slightly and pick Jaskier up under the thighs, lifting him up and onto the table before stepping between his spread legs.
“What is it you promised me? Give you a moment and you’ll make it last a lifetime?” He purred into the bard's ear, causing him to shiver and run his hands down the lower part of his back.
“You know what’s funny, Geralt?” Jaskier asked with a laugh in his voice.
“What?” Geralt asked slowly, kissing his way up Jaskier’s throat.
“I told my friends in Oxenfurt last winter that this was the year I closed on Geralt of Rivia, that I would do anything it took.”
“Mmm. And how is that going for you?”
“In the end, it wasn’t even anything I did. Maybe if I had voiced my absurd thoughts sooner, we could have been doing this for years.” He laughed into Geralt’s shoulder.
“I will admit, offering to tongue kiss a drowner was quite the visual.” Geralt teased.
“I would, you know. You tell me what to do and I'll do it, Geralt. Anything, for even a sliver of your heart.”
“You already have it all.”